Who, Really, Is the Demon Lord?

"Hasim-sama. There's something I'd like to put in your ear quietly."

Several days had passed since Hasim and his circle had raised the banner of rebellion.

That day, in his plain private chambers in the royal castle, Hasim was working out his next move against the King of Lemuse and his brothers when Aisha — black tea in hand — stepped up to whisper at his side. He set the planning down and looked over.

His eyes widened slightly.

"Hm? What is it, Aisha?"

"A certain person has a matter to take up with Hasim-sama. The detail — not quite here."

Aisha said no more.

"You don't have to be that careful. — There aren't any spies. My father lacks the hand for that. He wants me to be incompetent so badly that he doesn't bother having me watched at all."

Hasim caught her caution at once, and gave a theatrical shrug.

Aisha did not back down. She pressed forward.

"Maybe — Mūzeg's."

"That's absurd. — You're not actually serious — if Mūzeg's spies have already wormed in, the situation is a good deal —"

The follow-up landed. Hasim — who had handed every surrounding-spy matter to the talented woman who happened to be both maid and spy — was visibly thrown.

But —

"A joke, Hasim-sama. Our spies are already in the castle, and none of them have spotted any infiltrators. Even so — caution begets caution. Don't get careless, Hasim-sama."

— and with Aisha's mischievous smile, he let out a long sigh. Half resigned, half relieved.

"You took that joke a step too far, Aisha."

"My apologies. But — if not now, when do we make sure? The argument has its merit, surely?"

"Well — fair. — All right, all right. I admit, my head's been entirely on the plot. I should pay more mind to what's around me. — Right. Let's move venues."

Hasim took one sip of the tea Aisha had brought, and stood.

"The usual place, then. Who asked for the audience?"

"Earl Reynald."

Earl Reynald. The bearded man who had spoken for the gathered vassals at their last meeting. For all his dignified bearing, a man comfortable with both politics and a fight.

"I see. Then we hurry. Reynald speaks evenly, but the content tends to outpace the casual delivery."

Reynald collected information evenly and delivered it evenly. The unintended result was that Hasim sometimes failed to weigh it as heavily as he should. Hold on, his head would catch up to think later — his thoughts having been, in the moment, lulled along by Reynald's pleasant cadence.

Reynald wasn't to blame. But that fine voice of his, with its idiosyncratic rhythm, was — if anything — a small species of dangerous magic in Hasim's view.

"What about you, Aisha?"

"Of course, I will accompany you."

"Then let's prepare."

"As you wish."

Hasim went to find his small dagger — the one he used for shaving. He'd let his stubble grow, not having gone out lately.

---

The meeting place was the same shed-basement.

The location was right; the entrance wasn't. A prince of the realm being seen walking into an old shed would be conspicuous. Several entrances scattered elsewhere fed into the small chamber that happened to lie under the shed.

"It tickles the inner child, mind. I rather like it."

"The dust gets onto your person, Hasim-sama. If not for that, I'd have nothing to add as your maid."

Hasim's enjoyment was not shared. No matter how often it was cleaned, an underground space accumulated dust. If the dust got into Hasim's lungs and did him damage, the consequences for Lemuse would be catastrophic.

If Hasim died, Lemuse died with him. Aisha was as certain of this as the rest of his retainers.

They reached the small chamber. The door stood ajar; a voice from outside would have carried straight in.

"Sorry to keep you."

Anticipating the carry, Hasim spoke as he pushed the door wider.

A creak, a puff of dust off the hinges.

Again with this, Aisha thought, and winced.

Hasim paid the dust no mind and walked through.

A handkerchief at his mouth would have been the bare minimum.

Hasim might be excellent at strategy and statecraft, but in matters like this he was visibly oblivious. Small obliviousnesses pile up; one day they could combine into a force that came at him in earnest. Aisha, who tended toward worry, dreaded that day, and intended to spend her every effort preventing the components from collecting.

So, knowing it bordered on rude, she pressed a handkerchief to his mouth herself.

"Oho — keeping Lady Aisha hard at it as ever, Hasim-sama?"

Through the dust haze, the man seated at the chair inside — bearded, an aura of elegance about him — was looking at the two of them with a child's mischievous smile.

Earl Reynald.

"Don't tease, Reynald."

"I am not enough of a woman to be called Miss by Earl Reynald, sir."

"Come now. If not Miss Aisha, who would I call Miss? I'd as soon call you a proper Lady. You have the elegance for it, and the women's quiet steel besides. — How would it be? If you'd like a name to your house, we could adopt you in—"

"E-Earl Reynald!"

Aisha — handkerchief still pressed to Hasim's mouth — protested, cheeks reddening. She didn't seem entirely opposed; only modest about it.

"Hah. Well — Lady Aisha has rather more on her plate than a noble name would allow for. A house-name that draws the eye might rather get in her way. — Maids who can also work as spies are a rare breed these days, aren't they, Hasim-sama?"

"There are western intelligence-states where they grow on trees, mind you."

"Then permit me to amend. In the east, a rare breed."

"Aisha is unusually all-round, I admit. The one issue is that the handkerchief stays pressed for unnecessarily long stretches."

"That is your own fault, surely?"

"You've a perfectly sound point. — Aisha, that's enough. Thank you."

"Mind it next time, please."

The same gentle warning, for the umpteenth time. Aisha stepped back.

Hasim took the chair across from Reynald. He brushed his bright brown bangs aside with a fingertip; aqua-blue eyes settled on the older man.

"— Well?"

"Yes. A small matter to put in your ear."

"Will it be a small matter, this time?"

"Prepare a big ear, perhaps. — Joking aside. To the point. This morning a report came in from one of my men, regarding Mūzeg. Something in it is, shall we say, of interest."

"Oh?"

Mūzeg's movements warranted close attention. Hasim knew that all too well. The Three Kingdoms were still between them, but the chance of eventual collision was real.

"Are you familiar with a certain sacred mountain — Lindholm?"

"Of course. Said to be the place closest to the Empyrean. The strangeness of it sticks in the head. Mind you, no living person of sense would set foot up there."

"Just so. And yet a very large body of Mūzeg's army has, by report, ascended it."

"…Oh."

Hasim's brow lifted. Now I'm interested, the face said.

"For what purpose?"

"〈Demon Lord Hunting〉, in all likelihood. The report came in by messenger bird, so we can't yet send back questions — but the description points clearly that way."

"Demon Lord Hunting. Then it's 〈Serius Brad Mūzeg〉 in command, surely."

"Yes. He's the kind of royal who personally takes the field at the head of his army. By all reports, an enthusiastic participant in the hunting."

"Mm. The prodigy of an age of war, the wonder-child. Quite a thing for Mūzeg to have produced. — Is it really true that he's killed Demon Lords solo? They say he then deciphers the dead Demon Lord's secret arts and masters them in a single lifetime."

"As to that — without seeing it ourselves, it's hard to say."

"Indeed. Seeing is believing. If it's true — at this point, you can't really tell which one of them is the Demon Lord."

"Just so. The thing is, Serius has the whole of Mūzeg behind him. Compared with the current Mūzeg king, Serius may be the more fitting symbol of the country already. Which makes him no easy thing to ridicule — and ridicule, of course, is freely available, but the warranty on what comes after expires the moment you make use of it."

"There's nothing more dangerous than a Demon Lord embedded in a powerful organisation. In old days, plenty of Demon Lords were exactly that — kings of countries themselves. But the Demon Lords of those days tended to be vicious, and the various states cooperated well enough to put them down. In this age, with so many petty domains, there's no cooperation to speak of — only mutual wariness. Nothing functions."

Hasim let out a small breath.

"As if it weren't already enough that Mūzeg attracts the gem-class talent of the continent — even its royal house produces incarnations of force. Enviable, frankly."

He shrugged for show, then immediately prompted Reynald onward.

"And then? Is that the whole report?"

"No. The most important part is what follows."

"What is it?"

"That 〈Serius Brad Mūzeg〉 let the Demon Lords he was hunting slip away."

Reynald's flat line widened Hasim's eyes. A face of genuine surprise.

"Truly? That's rare — a Demon Lord who got out from under Serius. Mind you, I'm pleased to hear it."

That anyone had escaped the army Serius leads was, frankly, news Hasim hadn't expected. He felt a pleasure at it, and wanted to applaud whoever had pulled it off.

"— Hm? Demon Lords*?*"

He'd caught the plural in Reynald's phrasing.

Reynald, evidently expecting it, continued at once.

"It seems there was more than one Demon Lord present. — Several of them. My subordinate observed the engagement from a distance and reports something on the order of a dozen Demon Lord-class figures. Whether all of them are truly Demon Lords, uncertain — but he recognised several faces. — Probable, in his judgement."

"Mūzeg taking the trouble to climb Lindholm — Demon Lords, no question."

Hasim nodded.

"And they appear to have fled east. East from Lindholm — toward Mūzeg's mainland, yes, but also — toward this Lemuse."

"Oh."

"There is also a report that a golden ship slid down the eastern face of the mountain."

"That is a bizarre image."

"I'd have struggled to credit it without seeing it myself. But assuming the report is honest — and my subordinate has no reason to invent something so absurd — the bad taste belongs, I'd hazard, to the 〈Alchemy King〉 line."

"Ah, that lot…"

A wry smile from Hasim.

He'd caught Reynald's drift, then pulled up his own mental file on the 〈Alchemy King〉 family, and his smile broadened ruefully.

"That family does everything in exuberant style. They've sold their souls a touch too thoroughly to the god of trade for some people's stomachs. I rather like them, myself. The pursuit of capital is one of humanity's cultural objectives, after all."

"Yes. I follow their logic. — In any case, that is the matter."

"I see."

Reynald's report ended there.

As Hasim had predicted, the matter had not, in the end, been one that fit into a small ear.

But he looked, for all the gravity of it, somewhere between curious and pleased. Aisha and Reynald both noticed the childlike spark in his aqua-blue eyes.

"Send an envoy. At once."

The decision, also, came quickly.

A handful of seconds spent staring into space, weighing — and then this.

"At once?"

"At once. There's no longer any luxury of weighing. Demon Lords as the counterpart — because they're Demon Lords, we drag them in if we have to. If there's a Demon Lord among them who remembers the Lemuse of old, this is the moment to get word to them: Lemuse is, once again, going to become the sweet, noble country. So — in this age, in exchange for a place we give you to stand in, lend us your strength. Self-serving as that is — yes — and so it stays. So — call it a deal."

"— A deal."

"That's right. If there really are a dozen Demon Lords, they could halve Lemuse if they cared to. I don't know what calibre of titles they hold, but the shape Lemuse is in now, they could end us. So we offer them peace."

"In other words — Hasim-sama is wagering the country itself. On a deal in name only?"

"I'm strong at wagers, you know."

"I'm aware. As it happens, I'm fond of a wager myself."

Reynald rolled an imaginary die between his fingers, a mischievous little smile under the beard.

"Left alone, this country will fail. Where else, then?"

"Reynald. You say some heavy things, too."

"My superior — which is to say a royal — has already said it. Anything I add by repetition is hardly going to land with the same shock as the original article."

"— Quite so. We will catch it from the people, won't we."

Hasim smiled wryly again.

"Will we, though? Maybe the people, sliding gently into rot, are themselves wishing for a strong medicine. Something blunt-effective — the kind of remedy a decaying body actually responds to. — This is Lemuse. The country that, once, put its small body on the line to shelter Demon Lords from the rest of the continent. We failed then. We do not fail this time."

"Yes."

A hard light in Hasim's eyes.

"For 〈Technique God〉 Flander Crow, who died protecting Lemuse. For 〈White Emperor〉 Leilas Lif Lemuse, the Lemuse princess who put her body on the line for Flander. — And for the Lemuse people of that age, who agreed with Leilas's policy — the most noble people the world has yet produced. For their sakes."

Hasim spared a thought for the two heroes, and for the citizens of antique Lemuse who had staked their lives on those heroes' behalf.